This blog is based on something that just happened this evening. I actually am Janice in this story (not my real name).  It sounded better in the third-person.

He sat facing her in the booth in front of her at the Taco Bell. Janice noticed his young appearance. He was more than likely a freshman at the local university. She also noticed he was taking more than his turn in the argument with his two friends. The argument centered on the premise that his girlfriend was not really a virgin due to a vibrator and therefore he was not her “first.” Only one of his two friends that had their backs to Janice had enough sense to still call her a virgin.

Janice wanted so much to open her mouth and state, as a matter of fact, that if a woman loses her hymen to a vibrator it is not the same thing as losing her virginity to the moron describing how he got angry and lost his erection when he didn’t feel the gush of blood from his “supposed to be” girlfriend. He animated the quotes with his fingers as if the pause in his voice wasn’t enough to grasp his sarcastic tone.

Apparently after jumping off her in anger and accusing her in a rant, the girl had to show him the vibrator that stole his secret desire, he continued to share to all. He became angry, accused her of no longer being a virgin and stormed out. He left her sexually frustrated.

How unfair, Janice thought.

Janice wanted so much open her mouth and share her two cents – basically that he was a moron to not finish off his sexual release and to enjoy the fact that she liked sex enough to find a toy to pleasure her when he wasn’t around.  She wanted to share so much that she bit down on her taco just to find something to prevent the words from coming out and possibly from her standing on the table and singing it for all to hear like she was in a some scene from the TV show Glee.

Sure, the now sexually frustrated and probably crying girlfriend could have simply lied to him about her virginity and had been getting it on for years with his best friend (Janice smiled at that thought too). Or she could have been telling him the truth – that the vibrator broke her hymen.

What a way to lose it though. Janice contemplated the thought for a moment and then decided she was glad she lost her virginity the good old-fashioned way – in the back seat of the car that belong to the 20 year-old blonde with the damnedest green eyes  she ever saw.  Janice had lusted after him ever since he started working the same shift as her at the Dairy Queen.

Yeah, it was better that way she thought and then quickly said another quick prayer for not ending up pregnant like her friend Lucy who lost her virginity at 16 in a drunken stupor and ended up with twins boys with freckles and red hair just like the neighbor who moved right across the street. Losing your virginity to a guy without getting pregnant simply makes for better story telling she thought.

Janice felt sorry for the girlfriend of this moron. Here she was, probably getting ready to have a really good orgasm and he pulls out. For the sake of womanhood she wanted crawl over her own booth and in between his two friends to reach up and slap the moron.

She took another bite of her taco instead.

The vibrator doesn’t give her the same feeling as a real cock, his friend said. The only guy at the table with sense Janice thought.

“She didn’t have her hymen”, the moron shouted in sheer frustration.

“She is not a virgin like she said she was,” he continued his rant. “It isn’t the same thing.  I thought she was saving herself for me. I even took time to make it a special night  – I bought her fucking flowers too. And here the whole time she gave her virginity to a fucking vibrator. She couldn’t wait – that fucking slut!” He ended with a loud slurp of his drink, and the attention of everyone in the restaurant.

Everyone meant Janice and the cashier, who was at least 60. Janice smiled at the thought of the cashier describing her complaint to a cop.

“Officer these young men were talking about vibrators and virgins and I didn’t know how to stop them.”

Janice had no more taco to hold her back. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to speak up for women everywhere who used vibrators to keep sanity – hell to simply keep world peace!

He realized her caught her attention when he saw the older woman take the napkin to both corners of her lips where there was nothing to wipe clean. She looked right at him.

He probably should apologize for his loud voice he thought.  Then he quickly became angry again at the thought of apologizing to a woman who probably owned a vibrator too.

He retained his angry face and stared right back.

He blinked. He did not just see her mouth “You are a fucking idiot.”  Yet, when his two friends turned around with smiles on their faces, he knew he heard what he read on her lips.

“A complete idiot,” she continued.

“You had a woman underneath you, you were ready to shoot a load and you stopped just cause you didn’t feel her hymen! You could have asked her about it after you finished!” Janice was on a roll now.

She pushed her hands on the table and leaned forward. “And you should be happy that she uses a vibrator!” she exclaimed.

“That means she actually LIKES sex you idiot. You had a girlfriend that likes sex and you stormed out on her, probably make her cry too, all because you wanted to feel some blood. What a fucking idiot!”

Then Janice smiled. She wanted to continue on about how he should be glad for vibrators but the thought hit her, “You know, she is still technically still a virgin. You didn’t come in her, so technically she is still a virgin and if the girl has any sense she is fucking your roommate or the first man she sees right about now just so she can get her release.” she continued and she got up from the booth, grabbing her purse and the food tray in the process.

“If you want a virgin go buy a blow up doll and fuck that. If you want a mind-blowing orgasm, go find a woman who likes sex enough to know how to use a vibrator to get herself off. Any girl who isn’t shy about touching herself probably isn’t shy about sucking a dick either!” She said as she stood at the front of their booth while all three were looking at her with their mouths open, probably wondering how this middle-aged woman learned to talk like that.

Feeling satisfied that she stood for what was right and wholesome; Janice stood up and walked out the door, leaving her tray for the boys to clean up.


I once owned a 65 mustang. I was 20 at the time I owed that beautiful car. It was great to drive, a great communication starter with the guys and simply felt wonderful when on the highway.

The only thing I did not like about that car was the attention. I felt like I had to get dressed up, make up and all to drive the thing because everywhere it went it got noticed. There were not quick trips to the grocery store that didn’t end with two or three guys standing near and admiring the car.  It was more attention that I could handle. I liked my ability to not draw attention to myself – especially on days when I didn’t want to get made up to go to the  store. I like to be able to run to the store on a Sunday morning, without makeup, fancy clothes and heels.  I just needed milk,  and the Sunday paper.

But with that car, I would get noticed. Some men would wait  to see who was the lucky one that got to get on the pony leather seats.

I miss that car. I regret trading it.  I look at my son when he is getting annoying and think to myself, “I traded my 65′ Stang for a car to drive you around in the winter when you were a baby.”

If I could go back in time…..

So this morning those memories came flooding back as I looked in my rear view mirror while I waited at the light. Behind me was a 2000 white Mustang with red racing stripes.  It was a beautiful car.

The handicap sticker caught my attention after I had quit longing for my 65.

I had to smile.

Behind the wheel and a barely looking over the dashboard was a lady who had to be in her 80’s. Her travel companion was similar in age and size.

Those two woman had a hot car. A car they probably never took over 70.

I smiled because everyone deserves to drive around in a hot car  and get admiring glances at least once in their life, regardless of age.

I went out on a date Friday night.  The date was ok. Yet, the was a battle going on  inside me.

I was battling the argument, “Why are you dating when you are unemployed? You should be looking for work, you shouldn’t be spending money, you shouldn’t be letting him pay?, etc.”

It was relentless. I felt guilt, shame, embarrassment and unjustified at ordering the 21 dollar plate. And that was reasonable at the place he picked.

He was paying for dinner – he had said so on the way. It was just the first time I’ve been on a date in a long time where I really shouldn’t have gone to such an expensive restaurant.

Some woman have no qualms about letting a man take care of her. That is not me… not even close.  I can’t even take a dollar from a guy. If I needed five dollars for gas until Thursday, I would not ask the guy I was dating. I would try to get by without asking anyone. And if needed,  I would start with family members who owe me money.

The feeling of being decadent did not shake me the whole evening.  In the past, while employed, I would have no problem going out on a date and letting the guy pay if he wanted. I suppose it is the thought of being able to afford the dinner, as opposed to actually paying for it.

We talked about my lay off, and a recent job interview I went on. I felt somewhat justified in sharing that the job opportunity offered me a lot more money. I know he didn’t care about money and I probably already made more than he would all year if I just went off the gross from my last paycheck. He didn’t care about money. It was all me.

And it wasn’t the money – it was the thought of being in a position of weakness. The unemployment benefits was only 1/4 of what I was making. Money was tight but it wasn’ what was bugging me. It was the ability to take care of myself and my kids without needing a man who offered me security. I had always dated guys who made less than me.

I felt like I had to explain to him that I worked 60 hours  for four years: that I gave up a lot of nights to work,  and that I was wore out and happy to have been let go.

I didn’t share that though. I instead turned the conversation and let him talk, while inside I tried to quiet the voice that said I shouldn’t be out dating.

I resolved the battle after two drinks. I had to accept that I was having a good time and he was making me laugh.  I had to take the situation in stride and just enjoy the moment. I had to smile and just live in the now. I was not checking emails on my  blackberry every 5 minutes. I wasn’t even checking my phone. I wasn’t thinking about the project that didn’t get finished at work. I wasn’t thinking about how much I still had to do that weekend. I was  stress free and happy.

I ended the battle in my head when he smiled, said everything will be alright and leaned in to place a kiss on my lips. At that brief moment I was happy to be “one of those woman” who were content letting the man be the man and take care of her.

He was doing just that as led me out the restaurant with his hand on my back. He had just finished paying the nearly 100 bill and he was still smiling.

I tried to justify the whole dating thing by saying to self – “hey, now you have time to actually spend with some one, whereas before potential boyfriends never fully materialized because you never had time for them.” Maybe he is the one you will get to spend time with – maybe an afternoon at the ball game, maybe a day at the museum, I let the thoughts continue. It was possible.

By the end of the night the voices of guilt quieted down and the spring of potential rose.

I am just a few weeks into a layoff and I am seriously considering never returning to the corporate world.  I am still in the “detox” mode of getting off the rat race so it is still early.

But as I sit here alone in my home with solitude surrounding me,  I am finding I long to write more.

Solitude brings with it some things that are not always pleasant. Issues like reflection and blunt truths.

It also brings out loneliness and hours where I haven’t communicated with another soul, not including the dog either.

This solitude I am in is similar to being in the core of a hurricane.  I can either try to push out back into the rate race or I can try to figure out how to stay out here awhile longer.

There are parts of me that want to do the crazy stuff – like get drunk before happy hour or go on a trip I can’t afford.

Other parts  of me that want to just sleep all day and pretend I am depressed – using that as an excuse just to feel decadent for a while.

Yeah, I long to be decadent for a while and use the excuse that I am going through something. But I get up and get dressed and accomplish tasks.

Sure, there are the parts that seek the job boards and rush to find another job.


In truth. I have to flush this out of me. I have to figure out where I want to go in life. I no longer have toddlers that need sitters before I can work. I no longer need a sitter. I have options. I am very employable and highly skilled but I find myself asking what do I truly long to do? Where is my passion at? and if I am called to write, when does that begin?

The solitude around me is bringing up everything to the top.  I know I have to go through this process, to experience this journey. I have to do it now while I am mid-life, else I could be wasting another 30 years in corporate world before I give it another try.

I have to take the chance on me.  I am well qualified to write for others, to produce highly technical documents, to structure websites, to handle complex content management systems.

Now to treat my own work as I would do the work for others. That is what I face in the solitude.

I love this time of year. I love sleeping with the window open – despite having allergies. That cool air coming and and encouraging me to go deeper under the blankets makes for nights I long to never end.

And really it should be a sad time. It is an end to the summer heat, days at the beach and wearing white shorts. But there is something nice and refreshing about the change of the season.

It gives a reason to change our lives internally too. It is the time of  the year to let things fall off you internally too. Things like worry, stress, and the attitude from a former friend.

I am entering such a season internally. It is time for a change for me. I am changing my body by working out every day but this change is internal. I am changing the inside of me. I am no longer the same person I was a few years ago or even 6 months ago.

I think everyone should be allowed four grace days for sex recovery. Not to have sex but to recover from those nights when that young stud comes around and has the stamina of a full charged energizer bunny.

Of course, I recognize the logistics of making these 4 days legit. There will be those that want to abuse it.

And, not these should not be considered sick days. Walking funny after being banged is not being sick. It is being satisfied.

There should just be those exemptions where you call in and say, I can’t go in today, I am using the sex exemption clause.

Just 4 a year – any more and it is just taking advantage of the young studs.

I suppose that should be a requirement too. The sex has to last more than 3 hours to even qualify. It has to keep you up all night.

These days might as well be implemented. I mean it isn’t like we go into work productive. We go in tired, well satisfied, smug looking and if it was good, we have a slight pain when sitting down.

For these days we should be able to call in the clause. Like, “I can’t go in today. He tore me up last night!”

We would better serve our companies if we stayed home and caught up on sleep and then made up the work after glow wears off,  particularly with women. And we would make up the work too. We would heal, relive and then feel energized to tackle anything.

Oh yeah, one more thing.

These days should only be allowed if you are single and over 35 and the stud is in his 20’s. Else, it doesn’t qualify. Having your own spouse wear you out is not exciting enough to warrant this exemption.

(as posted on Craigslist (CL)- since that is where I occasionally get my shits and giggles from)

So in perusing through the posts that men write  on CL, I am finding there to be a common request that makes me wonder the following:

1)      I must’ve not been marked with the psycho stamp when I left the female factory

2)      I must’ve not received the memo that says only crazy women belong to CL

3)      There is one consistently crazy woman who is impactful at making an impression with everyone and skewing the female population.

Here is what I read

  • “..want woman who is not drama filled or crazy” This usually that comes along with “must also be petite, skinny and hot as hell and between 18-30. (While your ass is 45)
  • seeking someone who is not crazy or into drugs and wants to go on a bike trip with me this weekend.”  Ah, brother let me give you a clue – only a crazy woman would hop on the back of a bike with someone they don’t know. So don’t complain if you get a crazy woman!
  • seeking someone who isn’t out of mind crazy” – and that goes along with a long description of your oddities – so if you are weird, how can you have a double standard?

Before you flag and report me, let me just add this.

I’m not crazy. My life has no drama other than the movies I like to rent.  I love watching crazy people act like fools (hint, maybe you ;)) I am not psycho – I take no meds and the voices in my head are quiet.

I know it is rare but I am sane, sassy, smart, sexy and a smart-ass ( ok, so I could have went with other “s” words like sympathetic and sensitive but I would be pushing close to being full of that other “s” word J)

What do I seek?

Someone who is not clingy, emotionally whipped, whiny, lazy, delusional, insecure, or addicted to some drug or a habit that could warrant major counseling and a TV show that would earn high ratings because you are just that “jacked up”.  So save your drama for the screenplay.